


Bats In The Belfry

by AuthorToBeNamedLater



Series: Keeping Up With The Raptors [17]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Sports, Gen, Hockey, Humor, National Hockey League, Raptors, Seattle, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorToBeNamedLater/pseuds/AuthorToBeNamedLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a winged rodent invades Gunnar and Jones' hotel room and Hank needs a vertebra transplant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bats In The Belfry

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank everyone who has bookmarked and left kudos to these stories. It's not easy to get an audience for original work, and I really appreciate knowing that people are reading and enjoying the Raptors' escapades.

As far as Gunnar Norgaard was concerned, whoever made the decision for the Raptors to have a game in Seattle Saturday afternoon and a game in Detroit Sunday night should be tied to a goal net while every Raptor fired slap shots at him.

Following their 4-1 win over the Columbus Blue Jackets—about which Gunnar felt a little bad; beating the Blue Jackets was sort of like beating on your little brother who couldn't defend himself—the Raptors had hopped a charter flight across three time zones. They'd left at 7:00pm and landed at midnight in Seattle, or 3:00am in Detroit. By the time they got their luggage, boarded the bus, and checked in to the hotel it was after 4:00. Gunnar was exhausted, and stopping pucks in 15 hours was the last thing he wanted to do. Late night (or early morning, depending on how one wanted to look at it) arrivals were the norm for a professional hockey team, but they usually had a day in between games to get their equilibrium back. Not this time.

“You want the bathroom first?” John Harris asked as the two opened the door to their hotel room.

“You can have it,” Gunnar answered tiredly. He dug his phone out of his pocket and texted his girlfriend to let her know he was alive and in Detroit. Lise was probably still awake and if she wasn't, she'd get the message when she woke up. Then the backup goalie hefted his bag onto his bed, found his PJs, and set about getting ready for bed. Pregame skate was at 11:00 and Coach had mercifully given them the morning off the mandatory meetings that usually accompanied road trips. _Six hours between now and getting to the bus isn't so bad_ , Gunnar thought as he tugged his sweatpants on and an old gray T-shirt over his head. _Well, five to breakfast. Do I really need breakfast?_

Jones emerged from the bathroom. “All yours, man.”

Gunnar muttered a “thank you” and shuffled into the bathroom. He brushed his teeth as quickly as he could and ambled back into the room with a wide yawn. Jones was already in bed. Gunnar turned off the light and flopped unceremoniously onto the mattress.

Not five minutes later Gunnar heard a sharp rustle of fabric. “Norgie.”

“What,” Gunnar mumbled.

“There's something in here,” Jones said.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, a bird. Or something.”

Gunnar wasn't remotely amused. “It's your imagination, Jones. Go to sleep.”

Instead, Jones turned on the light. Over Gunnar's curses of protest, the forward said, “Look, there it is! It's a bird!”

Gunnar rubbed his eyes. “Jones, it's--”

It wasn't a bird, Gunnar realized as the creature flew right over his head.

“A bat!” Gunnar exclaimed, fully awake now.

“A bat?!” Jones leaped out of bed.

“Holy--”

“We gotta get out of here!” Jones scampered for the door.

“And go where?” Gunnar followed his teammate out.

“Hank and Ronny are across the hall!”

.

.

.

When someone rapped on the team captain's door at 4:30am, they were never bringing good news.

The frantic pounding roused Hank just as he was starting to sink into a much-needed slumber. He leaped out of bed and dashed for the door, fully expecting word that one of his teammates was seriously injured or ill. What else could be the problem at this hour?

“What's going on?” Hank demanded of the wide-eyed Gunnar and Jones.

“Can we sleep here?” Jones blurted.

Hank dropped his hand from the doorjamb to his side. “What?”

“There's a bat in our room,” Gunnar panted.

“A bat,” Hank repeated.

“What's up?” Andor mumbled sleepily from his bed.

The door next to Hank's opened and an obviously unhappy Ugur Bozkurt appeared. “What the hell is going on out here?” He asked crossly.

Hank didn't feel like arguing. “Get in here,” he said, stepping aside to let Jones and Gunanr in. “Sorry, Boz,” the team captain said to Ugur.

 

“Hold it,” Andor said as Jones started to climb into bed. “You're not sleeping with me.”

“So, what, I'm sleeping with Hank?” Jones asked.

“Doesn't matter to me. I never agreed to this,” Andor returned.

“Gunnar and I can't both sleep with Hank,” Jones pointed out.

“Could we, like, not talk about who's sleeping with who?” Gunnar asked.

A banging on the wall made everyone jump. “You guys wanna pipe down in there?” Sandy's voice came muffled through the walls. “Some of us want to sleep.”

_No kidding._ “OK,” Hank said in a quieter voice. “I'll sleep on the couch. You guys take the bed.” He went to the closet to get a spare pillow and blanket.

“I'm sure you're used to that,” Andor quipped.

Hank tossed the pillow at his D-partner and got it right back in the face.

A knock came at the door. Hank groaned and walked back across the room to answer.

“Are you guys fighting World War Three in here?” Tim Keller asked.

“Sorry, Keller,” Hank said. “We're trying to get settled.”

The red-haired defenseman peeked around Hank's shoulder. “Why are you guys in here?” He said to Jones and Gunnar.

“There's a bat in our room,” Jones said.

Keller blinked. “Come again?”

“Keller. Go back to your room,” Hank ordered. Once Keller was gone, Hank shut the door and turned to his visitors. “All right. Voices down, lights off, sleep. Now. We can deal with flying rodents in the morning.”

Hank settled onto the couch, which was definitely not designed to accommodate 6' 3” of hockey player. Well, he had six children. It wasn't like Hank had never gone without sleep.

A few minutes later Hank was jerked out of almost-sleep by Jones' yelp.

“Jesus, Norgie! Your feet are fucking freezing!”

“Sorry.”

“Enough!” Hank barked. “Shut up, both of you!”

The houseguests didn't make another sound for the rest of the night.

.

.

.

William LaJeunesse had expected some bleary eyes, yawns, and extra helpings of coffee at breakfast the next morning. But when Hank, a renowned early riser, stumbled into breakfast unshaven and still in his pajamas, the Raptors' head coach felt his brow furrow.

“You OK, Hank?” LaJeunesse asked quietly once Hank sat down.

Hank nodded. “Yeah.”

“You look like death,” the head coach observed.

Hank looked ready to say something when Sandy, appearing rather haggard himself, stopped at the table. “What was going on in your room last night?”

Hank was once again just about to respond when Jones, Gunnar and Greger Borgstrom entered the room.

“You guys had a bat in your room?” Greger asked.

“Yeah, Norgie found it,” Jones said.

“What, was it in your bed?” Greger moved over to the buffet table.

“No, it was behind a curtain or something,” Gunnar answered.

“What did you guys do?” Greger grabbed a pitcher of milk.

“We slept in Hank and Ronny's room,” Gunnar said.

LaJeunesse slid his gaze back to Hank, who looked ready to fall asleep in his scrambled eggs.

“Seriously?” Greger took his breakfast to a nearby table.

“Yeah,” Jones said.

“So wait.” Sandy looked at Hank. “Those two showed up at your door freaking out about a bat in their room and you let them in?”

“What was I supposed to do?” Hank asked tonelessly.

“Send them back to their room!”

“It was four in the morning!”

“So what did you guys do, cram into the beds?”

“They did,” Hank yawned. “I slept on the couch.”

LaJeunesse looked at his team captain. “The couch?!”

“No wonder you look like the walking dead,” Sandy said.

Hank sighed and let his hands fall onto his lap. “It was late and I just wanted to sleep.”

Sandy pointed a finger at Hank. “You need to grow a spine.”

“I'll work on that,” Hank said with very little conviction.

With a chuckle of half amusement and half sympathy, LaJeunesse clapped his defenseman on the shoulder and headed out to meet Vince. They had some plays to go over before pregame skate.


End file.
